


drive on through the night (back home)

by palateens



Series: QINASFS [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Relationships, Genderfluid Jack, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Other, Trans Character, Trans Kent, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, apparently I was supposed to tag that, endgame Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, it's a happy ending I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 19:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: They’re not the same people they were in the Q, with hockey looming over their heads. They’re better.





	drive on through the night (back home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [achilleees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/gifts).



> achilleees requested some endgame pimms  
> (me, as thought about your eternal sunshine au: ok, yes, this is super necessary. they are going to be happy and together today.)
> 
> Major things to note:  
> the biggest canon divergence here is that we're sticking to rl logic and CHL players are not allowed to play for the NCAA.  
> Second [omgpieplease](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SceneryTurnedWicked/pseuds/Omgpieplease) has made some really fabulous art for both [genderfluid Jack](https://omgpieplease.tumblr.com/post/162490317957/whoacanada-whoacanada-omgpieplease) and [trans man Kent](https://omgpieplease.tumblr.com/post/162567476817/kent-stretches-his-arms-out-groaning-as-he) which is what initially inspired the idea for this fic.

The first time Jack wakes up, it’s the middle of the night. The room is sterile and silent. It’s dimly lit by a lamp in the corner where his parents are sleeping in wooden chairs. They’re huddled together like they’re clinging to each other for dear life. His eyes roam around, and it takes him a minute to fully consider the situation he’s in. 

He’s in a hospital room. 

He wanted to die, and he failed. 

Again. 

It startles him when he realizes that Kent’s sitting in the chair next to him, watching him closely. Like Jack is something he’s never seen. Like he doesn’t know whether to shout or cry, or both. Their eyes lock. Kent’s are as dark as the room. 

Kent rises slowly from his seat. Jack expects him to leave, or punch Jack. Instead, he crushes Jack in a hug. Jack grips back tightly. He doesn’t know if he wants this affection—or if he even deserves it. But the longer Kent holds him steady, the less time Jack has to be alone with his thoughts. 

Somehow, they end up a tangle of limbs in the hospital bed. Kent brushes his hair. He doesn’t ask questions. Part of Jack is relieved he doesn’t have to start explaining himself yet. Part of him wonders if what they have could ever be considered love. 

Finally, Kent murmurs, “You fucking asshole,” and Jack thinks _ yeah, that’s fair. _

He falls asleep with Kent murmuring about things they can do next week: go mini golfing, fishing...maybe volunteer at an animal shelter in town. 

He doesn’t mention the draft the next day. Jack drifts off, wondering how much things are destined to change.

_/.\\_ 

The second time he wakes up, Papa and Maman are awake. Kent’s gone. Alicia cradles his head, as if to tether him to reality. Bob doesn’t speak much. This throws Jack at first. Bad Bob Zimmermann was nothing if not a charismatic jokester.  

“He blames himself,” Alicia tells him when they’re alone.

“Why?”

She kisses his temple. It reminds him of when he was twelve, and she had seven months off to stay at home. She insisted on tucking him in every night, despite his age. He doesn’t remember the last time both of his parents were home at the same time. 

“Because he’s your father, and you should’ve been able to come to him,” Alicia says. 

“But—” Jack had never bothered to try. 

“Don’t worry, this is about you. Not making us feel better. We’re just happy you’re—”  _ alive _ goes unspoken. 

His doctor comes in to run his vitals. A therapist comes later to evaluate his mental health. His parents talk about his options as if he were choosing summer camps, and not rehabilitation centers. The TV is switched to some obscure channel playing a rerun of a movie Jack never cared for. Machines thrum on all sides of him. He picks at the applesauce on his dinner plate, and wonders where Kent is.  

Jack hears nurses at the station across the way excitedly mention that Kent Parson went first in the draft. He presses his call button, and asks for a glass of water just to get them to shut up. 

He falls asleep that night with one thought on his mind. 

Kent abandoned him. 

_/.\\_ 

The third time Jack wakes up, Kent’s voice is just outside the door. He’s arguing with Alicia. 

“Kent, I’m sorry he’s still—”

“I just came to say goodbye, okay?” His voice is feeble and pleading. It sounds nothing like the confident bravado he whispered in Jack’s ear last week while they were getting each other off.       

Alicia sighs. The door pushes open slowly. Jack’s eyes are open, but he refuses to meet Kents’. 

“Hey,” Kent says. 

Jack doesn’t respond. It’s too soon, too raw. He thought dying would take away all the resentment he felt towards his best friend. He never considered that he’d live; that things would be much worse. 

“Fine, don’t talk. That’s fine. Just listen, okay?” Kent’s shoes squeak against the linoleum flooring. He’s pacing, as far as Jack’s lowered gaze can see. 

“I didn’t wanna go, Zimms,” Kent says after awhile. “I never wanted to go first. That was your spot.” 

Jack nods mechanically. He’s not sure how much he believes that. 

“I called my mom, and she said ‘I don’t care what gender you are, but I’d sooner die than let you give up for a man.’” 

“So you went,” Jack surmises. 

Kent chuckles. The sound is cracked and frayed. It makes the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stand on end. He briefly wonders how much they could tear each other apart if his mother wasn’t standing within ear shot. He wonders if Kent will ever stop idolizing him and start seeing him for what he really is—a coward and a failure. 

“It was either that, or spend the rest of my life listening to her berate me for letting you ‘ruin my life’.” Kent argues. 

“Did I?” 

Kent flinches. “Why would you even ask something like that?”

Jack huffs impatiently.“Why are you even here?” 

“Why else, Jack? I lo—” 

“Don’t,” he interrupts, “say something that you don’t mean.”  

He looks up long enough to see Kent slack jawed, hurt and confused. Kent’s eyes are dull and grey today. They compliment the deep purple forming under his eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Kent whispers. “I would give it all up in a heartbeat if I knew it would make you happy.” 

“Then do it,” Jack says gruffly. 

Kent looks away, clenching his fist tightly. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Kent takes a deep breath. “Y’know, I honestly can’t remember the last time you loved me the way I love you.” 

He storms off, barely murmuring thanks to Alicia on his way out. She asks Jack if he’s alright. 

“Yeah,” he lies. 

Jack dreams that night of smaller hands dying brown locks blond. He dreams of soft, chapped lips and carefully undoing a binder after a win. When he wakes up, he almost expects to see a text from Kent, apologizing for yesterday. He checks his phone every five minutes that day.

Nothing. 

_/.\\_ 

A week before the Memorial Cup, Jack sits on the back porch of his parents’ house. It’s unseasonably warm for the end of March. Jack’s skimming through an article about top draft prospects—the fourth or fifth one that week. The words bleed together in his vision. There’s too much about his force and tactics versus Kent’s speed and soft hands. As if they weren’t equally matched. As if another five hundred words could hint who would go first, and who would always be second best. 

Tapping on his shoulder rouses him from his anxiety induced haze. Kent’s plopping down next to him. He wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulders. Jack shudders, leaning into the touch. 

“Hey,” Kent says. His voice is coarse and tentative. 

Jack clears his throat. “Hey.” 

“What are you doing?”

“Reading…” He gestures to the newspaper in his hands facetiously. 

Kent shakes his head, slumping his head against Jack’s shoulder. 

“I mean,” he says, “what are you doing, torturing yourself with this bullshit again?” 

“It’s not bullshit,” Jack tries to argue.

“They’re glorified tabloids, Zimms.” Kent shifts so he can warily glare at him. “What they say means nothing, okay?” 

That was the problem. It wouldn’t matter in a few months who went first and who went second. But for now, something as trivial as draft order could mean everything. It could distract Jack from the real questions. What was going to happen to them? Would Kent be okay on his own? And what about Jack, for that matter? 

“Are you going to tell them?” 

He looks at Jack like he’s grown a second head. “Who?”

“Your team,” Jack says. 

Kent swallows thickly before answering. “Fuck no. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a Cup under my belt before I even think about it.” 

“And what about—” 

“Never,” Kent says with finality. “Guys like me don’t get to play for the NHL. It just doesn’t work like that.” 

Sometimes Jack pushes the right buttons to distract Kent. Sometimes, he wonders why he gets some thrill out of knocking the confidence out of Kenny. 

_/.\\_ 

Kent calls after he settles in Vegas. Jack doesn’t answer. He calls again during development camp. Jack lets him go to voicemail. He leaves a two minute message, rasping which players he hopes he gets to play with and which prospects were especially obnoxious all week. 

The third time Kent calls is a week after Jack’s birthday. A twist in his stomach tells Jack to pick up; this might be important. Kent breathes heavily on the other line. They don’t speak for a few minutes. 

“Kenny?” Jack cuts through the silence.

“Zimms— “ He chokes back a sob. 

“Kenny, what’s wrong?”

“They—they found out. I’m off the team.”   

Jack freezes. His first thought is to ask how. The second is to snidely remark  _ what took them so long?  _ It makes his blood run cold. He’s back at home. His parents are working quietly in their offices, but they’re both within earshot. 

“What are you going to do?” Jack asks instead. 

“I don’t—know,” he confesses. 

“Come home, Kenny,” Jack says without thinking. 

“What?” 

“Go see your mom. Then come home,” he clarifies. 

Save for some car horns in the background, Kent’s line is silent. Jack considers hanging up the phone, but he gives Kent time to process. 

“Okay,” Kent says finally.  He hangs up without a goodbye. 

He settles into the living room sectional. He puts on  _ Runaway Bride _ , because even Maman has gotten sick of hearing  _ Pretty Woman _ playing in the background. Kent sounded scared and alone. Sometimes, under the cover of darkness, they’d theorize worst case scenarios with each other. 

Jack would talk about his anxiety and getting knocked down to a farm team as Kent painted his toenails. Kent would mutter something here and there about transphobia in sports and how much harder it would be to hide in professional locker rooms. He talked about getting top surgery as soon as his second check cleared. 

Alicia finds Jack curled into himself underneath a blanket an hour later. It’s the middle of August. She asks if he’s feeling alright. His parents ask that a lot these days. 

“Could you…” Jack falters. 

“What is it, honey?” She asks patiently. 

He blushes considerably. “Could you paint my nails? Kenny usually does it for me.” 

Alicia looks unfazed, nodding readily. She comes back with lilac because it’s Jack’s favorite color. They sit there for a while as she works meticulously on his fingernails. 

“Kent got kicked off the Aces,” he says finally. 

Alicia doesn’t stop. “What happened?” She phrases carefully.

“I don’t know. He sounded scared,” Jack admits. 

“You don’t think—”

“I don’t know,” he cuts her off, because he doesn’t want to think about it too much.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe they should be talking about it. Maybe Jack should drag Bad Bob out of his office and demand he use every inch of his influence to find out exactly how the Aces found out Kent is a trans man. Maybe Jack should be on a flight to Las Vegas right now to take Kent home himself. But his therapist has been trying to taper his over exuberance lately.  

So instead, he says, “I told him to come home.”  

Because it’s the truth. Because it’s what he wants. For the first time in months, he doesn’t resent Kenny. He doesn’t remember when he got to this place where he can’t think of his best friend, his first everything, as anything more than a threat to his livelihood. 

Jack calls Kent around midnight to make sure he’s packing. He asks if Kent is safe, because he thinks that’s the least he can do. 

“Yeah,” Kent grunts. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says. 

“Did they—” 

“Did they what, Zimms?” Kent snaps. “Did they take advantage of me? Did they soil your pretty fucking virgin? Do I have to double my fucking dowery so you can look me in the fucking eye again?” 

“That’s not what I was I going to say.” Jack bites the inside of his cheek to stop from shouting. His parents think he went to bed an hour ago. 

“Yeah? You could’ve fooled me.” Kent sighs. “How’d we get this fucked, huh? I thought we had each other’s backs.”

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “The draft—”

“Fuck the draft. I wasn’t kidding when I said I would give it all up to see you happy.”

“You don’t have a choice anymore,” Jack points out. 

Kent laughs. It’s cold and hollow, but it doesn’t crackle like it did in the hospital. “You’ve got a point.” 

“Come home, Kenny,” Jack repeats. 

“Why should I?” 

“Because I need to know you’re safe,” he admits. “I miss you.” 

Something about those words give Jack an eerie shiver through his bones. As if they were always supposed to end up here somehow—with one of them extending an olive branch to the other.

“I-I can’t,” Kent stutters. “It’s not that simple. I gotta move my shit back to my mom’s and save up for a train ticket.”    

Jack frowns. It’s a thinly veiled excuse, but for all the space Jack’s demanded from Kent, he never stopped to consider what Kent needs. 

“Wanna watch something while I pack?” Kent redirects. 

They watch  _ When Harry Met Sally _ because that’s Kent’s favorite. They banter back and forth about scenes they love and things they should do together soon. Jack feels the tightness in his chest settle for the first time in months. They fall asleep around three in the morning EST. The last thing Jack does is listen to Kent’s soft snores, thinking that maybe there’s more to life than hockey. 

_/.\\_ 

Z: maman says I need to learn to do my own nails

K: ? 

Z: she says she can’t keep up with me chipping my nails every other day

K: ok A- get a better top coat B- I’ll send you some videos 

Z: yea?

K: yea, my mom’s making me get help before I run off into the sunset with you 

K: she says I should learn to be less dependent on you

Z: i think it’s the other way around

K: nah, I like being needed. It’s dumb that I only think I’m good to people when I’m being useful to them. 

Z: I’ll always need you 

K: i want to be wanted, Zimms

Z: I want you

K: ok

Z: I meant it 

K: I know

K: just give me some time 

Z: ok

_/.\\_ 

Bob and Alicia broach the subject of his career a week or so later. Kent’s still in New York. His mom is just happy that he got to keep his signing bonus and that he can looks into colleges. Not that he can play for an NCAA team. Neither can Jack, for that matter. They burned that bridge the first time they accepted a stipend from the Q. 

“You don’t have to choose now.” Papa assures him softly. “But if you want to be considered for the draft next year, we need to get you a few trainers. And maybe a nutritionist.” 

“I need to think about it,” he confesses, staring at the chipped yellow nail polish that he hasn’t bothered to remove. He doesn’t have to, not without teammates or coaches to goad him to be more ‘masculine’. 

Bob puts a hand on his shoulder. “You can find other ways to be around hockey. You don’t have to play.” 

Jack sags his shoulders. He nods slowly. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.” 

“What person, honey?” Alicia frowns. 

“The kind of person who worries so much about people who don’t matter that they hurt the people who do.” 

His parents exchange concerned glances. Ultimately, they agree. He goes to therapy every week instead of every other. He applies for a job coaching a local peewee hockey team. The kids on his team call him Coach Z. It makes his heart flutter. He can’t tell if it’s because it reminds him of Kent or because he doesn’t have to hear them call him Jack. Jack is an angry asshole who made all of his problems Kent’s too. 

Coach Z is patient and shows up to every practice with different nail polish on their fingers. Coach Z makes funny jokes, and helps the kids with their stickhandling and skating. Coach Z doesn’t cut their hair or shave their beard. They stop responding to he pronouns. They stop living in Bad Bob’s shadow. It’s nice. 

_/.\\_ 

K: My mom wants me to look at more schools 

Z: I thought you were doing that

K: I mean outside of New England

Z: Why?

K: Something about getting rid of those bad memories from Vegas 

Z: so for two months, you have to move away for four years?

K: yea, I told her she can’t push me away that easy 

Z: what’d she say 

K: she cried a little 

K: I guess she’s still convinced that I’m only sticking around because of you

K: I think she thinks I outed myself so I’d have to come home 

Z: did you 

K: even I’m not that stupid 

Z: you’re not stupid 

K: I feel pretty dumb 

K: my ACT scores are shitty 

Z: take the SATs, most schools around you prefer them 

K: ok…

Z: what 

K: are you? Do you ever think about next year? What you’re gonna do?

Z: sort of 

Z: I need to start looking at schools too

K: cool 

K: maybe we’ll get into rival schools

K: keep up that old zimmermann-parson rivalry 

Z: don’t say that 

Z: we don’t have to be those people anymore 

K: yea? then who are we?

Z: anything we want 

_/.\\_ 

Kent shows up at practice on a cold Monday toward the end of November. He didn’t call, typical Kenny. 

He already has a pair of skates in hand. As if he’s expecting Zimms to wave him over. So of course they do. The two of them fall into an easy rhythm with the kids. Practice goes smoothly and the kids berate Kent with a million questions about Coach Z. 

“Are you Coach Z’s boyfriend?” Anthony asks. 

Kent chuckles. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“Well do you kiss?” Connor chimes in.

“Sometimes,” Kent admits.

“Sounds like a boyfriend to me,” Anthony mutters. 

Kent snorts when he notices Zimms blushing. They make sure everyone is picked up by their respective guardians or carpools before they head out. 

“How’d you get here?” Zimms asks. 

Kent shrugs. “Your mom dropped me.”

“And you’re expecting me to give you a ride, eh?”

“The cold getting to you already, Zimms?” Kenny chirps. “Maman would be pissed if she found out I had to walk all the way home by myself.” 

Zimms rolls their eyes. “Why should I?”

“Because I’m here,” Kent answers simply as he stares at the keys in Zimms’ hand. “I came home. Just like you asked.” 

_/.\\_ 

They spend the night researching side by side on the living room sectional. Kent switches to his glasses early on in the evening. They eat pizza pockets like they used to on cheat days. Only now, every day can be a cheat day. It’s surreal to Zimms that the rest of their lives won’t be dictated by hockey. 

“Can we even go to the same school?” they ask. 

Kent looks up from his laptop, shifting to face Zimms. He looks too small in Zimms’ old Rimouski t-shirt. Then again, he didn’t finish bulking up during pre-season. And now, he doesn’t eat like a hockey player anymore. 

“I was thinking something with math,” Kent says. “Y’know, I was always doing your homework for fun.”

Zimms makes a strangled sound. “I thought it was because you liked me.”

“That too,” he concedes. “But I really did like it? Even I’m not crazy enough to do two different math assignments every night for three years just because I was obsessed with someone.” 

“You weren’t—”  

“I was so fucking obsessed with you,” Kent cuts them off, pointing seriously. “Don’t try to deny it.” 

Zimms crinkles their nose. “Obsessed sounds...wrong. One sided.” 

Kent’s eyes flicker with something intense. “I thought it was one sided.”

“It was never one sided,” Zimms confesses. 

Kent puts his laptop to the side, scooting closer to them. He runs his fingers through Zimms’ flow. “I keep thinking about what you said that one time—about being anything we want.”

“Uh huh, and?”

“What if—I get some degree in like math, and a masters in like stats or something?  I could come up with better methods to gauge athlete performance over time.” 

“Okay,” Zimms murmurs. “Can’t keep you away from hockey, eh?”   

Kent winces, like a phantom pain reminding him that life wasn’t anything like they’d planned. 

Zimms frowns. “Too soon?”

“A little,” Kent says. 

“I’m sorry.” Zimms pulls him onto their lap. 

Kent shakes his head. “It’s fine. Anyway, we haven’t talked about what you want.” 

They clear their throat. “I don’t know.” 

“C’mon, don’t think so hard,” Kent murmurs as he leans against their chest. “If you could do anything, be anyone, live anywhere—what would that look like?”

Zimms sees an apartment in New York a block away from Columbia. They see theirself working at a magazine or with a clothing designer. They see a cat sleeping in the corner of their living room. They see Kenny being a professor or an analyst or whatever he wants. Zimms sees them in their late twenties, talking about moving somewhere smaller like Providence. Maybe looking into starting a family. They see a life where no one looks at them and thinks ‘the NHL’s most promising legacy’. Just a person living their life to the fullest.  

They think they’ll save some of those fantasies for another day. Right now, they’re both eighteen, and trying to figure out where to go next. 

So Zimms says, “Maybe I could go into photography. Lots of schools have a major for that.” 

Kent giggles in a way he hasn’t in almost a year. It’s light but wet, like he forgot they could be good for each other. Or he was so scared they could never get back here again. 

He kisses Zimms for the first time in months. Unlike their first real kiss, Zimms knows they’ll remember this. 

_/.\\_ 

K: I want tattoos 

K: like—a lot of them 

Z: ok…

K: you’d still like me, right?

Z: if you’re drinking again, you need to tell me 

K: hardy har har

K: I’m serious

Z: …

Z: tattoos are fine 

K: just fine or?

Z: what do you have in mind

K: I wanna fucking garden on my arm

Z: ok, do it

K: yea?

Z: yea

Z: maybe I’ll get something too 

K: sweet <3      

_/.\\_ 

The Zimmermanns go down to New York City for Christmas. Kent’s family welcomes them in with open arms and a crowded room full of distant relatives bickering in Spanish to themselves. It’s not like Zimms missed Kenny. They talk every day over the phone. They have a calendar for deadlines, and a flurry of college applications they just submitted yesterday. 

They’re attached at the hip. 

Only now, they talk about boundaries and being supportive in healthy ways. They argue when they need to, because it’s better than bottling everything up, and pretending it’s all fine. Kent’s sister Izzy chirps them insistently about how close they sit on the couch or how Zimms’ hand keeps finding Kent’s. 

“Wait til you’re our age,” Kent chastises her. 

Zimms rolls their eyes endearingly. “You would too if you were us.” 

Izzy crinkles her nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kent rubs her head until her curls are messy and frizzy. “Hockey life sucks. Zimms and I could never date publicly if we were in the NHL.”

“Is that why you quit?” Izzy asks. 

Zimms swallows. They hadn’t realized Izzy didn’t know the full story. 

“Exactly, mijita,” Kent’s mom coos as she comes by with more mole. “These two deserved better.” 

This is the first time Zimms has heard anyone put it that way. But she was right. Homophobia and transphobia existed everywhere. But especially under the microscope of professional sports, it was suffocating. 

“So you quit for _ love _ ?” Izzy asks with a sickeningly sweet tone. 

Before they can argue, Kent intervenes. “Nah, it was for us individually. We’re still figuring out how to be adults in a relationship and shit.”

“You’re not adults—” Izzy argues as his mom shouts for him to watch that mouth of his. 

Zimms finds theirself tangled in a mess of limbs on Kent’s bed that night. They fall asleep listening to Kent ramble about different scholarships he’s been applying to, and how he can keep applying for more throughout college. 

“We’ll figure out it,” he assures Zimms quietly. “Together.” 

_ Yea _ , Zimms thinks,  _ together _ .    

_/.\\_ 

Zimms gets a text from Kent one day in mid February. 

K: did something come from Samwell today? 

They’d applied to nearly all the same schools (except MIT and Brown). But whenever they started talking about schools they liked, they always came back to Samwell. It was Alicia’s alma mater. But more than that, it was queer friendly. It was far enough from Boston that they could have a stereotypical college experience, but close enough that they could get the itch of living in a city out of their system whenever it arose. 

Zimms checks the mailbox on their way into the house. There’s a large envelope.

Z: yes 

K: anddddd

K: ?

Z: why don’t you call me and find out?

K: ugh give me a sec

K: need to tell ma I’m going on break

He calls five minutes later, while Zimms is in the middle of peeling an orange, from upstairs in his bedroom. 

“Slacking on the job again, eh?” they chirp.

Kent glares. “It’s been slow as shit all day.” 

Zimms snorts. “Sure it has.” 

He whines, “C’mon, babe, stop torturing me. Didja get in?” 

They lift the package so Kent can see it. His eyes light up as he gasps. 

“So that’s it right?” Kenny asks. “We’re going to Samwell?”

Zimms smirks. “I think so, yea.” 

_/.\\_ 

“You’re flow’s getting impressive,” Kent tells them one night in May.

It’s been a year. They’re back in Zimms bedroom in Montreal. In some ways, things haven’t changed. Kent kisses Zimms’ cheek reverently as he chirps them lovingly. They argue over whose turn it is to pick the movie. 

But Kent still can’t use Zimms’ bathroom and refuses to be in the room if the door’s closed. He still reaches out for Zimms in the middle of the night to check that they’re breathing. Zimms’ hair is long, and neither of them can tell who bought what piece of clothing anymore. Kent buys things a little bigger now, and Zimms buys them colorful and soft. Kent pulled out his legging collection from the back of his closet. He gives some to Izzy, who’s going through another growth spurt, and keeps the rest for himself and Zimms. He says fuck binary expression every time he braids their hair gently. 

They’re not the same people they were in the Q, with hockey looming over their heads. They’re better. 

“I like it,” Zimms admits. “It feels...right.” 

Kent hums agreeably. “Good. I like it. It—uh—it feels more like you.”   

They smirk, leaning into kiss the tip of Kent’s nose. “We can’t be roommates next year.”

“Duh,” he says bluntly. “We got like—forever and a day to live in the same tiny craphole together. You do you.”

“Ok,” they agree. 

“Just—think about applying for gender inclusive housing.” 

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Fuck yea,” Kent says. “I’m not dealing with some shitty prep asking why I don’t just get top surgery already.” 

Zimms huffs.“You could, you know, my parents—”

“Have done enough already,” he counters. “I like earning that money on my own, ok? If I ever get stir crazy about it, I’ll ask. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” they say with a smile.   

Some things will never be the same between the two of them. And the way Kent looks at them, with trust and admiration, is something Zimms wouldn’t change for the world. 

_/.\\_ 

“So this is college,” Kent deadpans. It’s late August, and they’re in the middle of sorting through their clothing. The problem with sharing a wardrobe over several months is that neither of them remembers what belongs to whom. 

“It’s probably for the best that I’m down the hall,” Zimms says. 

“As long as you don’t take all the button-downs,” he grumbles.

“I don’t always wear blouses, Kenny,” they argue. 

“I’m gonna start collecting as many free t-shirts as possible,” he says as he sorts through another pile of bottoms. “Fuck, I’m buying my own pants from now on. I need belts to keep up with that ass of yours.” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining about this ass last night,” they chirp. 

Kent pushes them off the bed, crossing the room. He gets on his tiptoes to kiss them. 

“I love that ass,” he says, “and every other inch of you.” 

“I love you too,” they murmur, pulling them in close. 

Kent shifts back, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “My argument stands. I need pants, and a job.” 

Just then, there was on knock on Kent’s door. Zimms opens it for him. On the other side is a six-foot guy wearing a Samwell Hockey t shirt. 

“Hey, I’m Johnson. SMH’s new goalie,” the guy says. 

“Cool, hi,” Kent says. “Um, I’m Kent, and this is Zimms.” 

“Oh, I know,” Johnson says. “This is going to sound really weird. But our manager quit last minute, and we’re looking to the fill the position.” 

Kent eyes him warily. “Ok…” 

“The hours are shit, but the pay is good. It’s also a job meant for like three or four people. But for some reason, the last manager was the only person they hired.” 

“So—you found us?” Kent 

Johnson hums, shrugging. “I heard something about some hockey pros starting school here. And I figured, sometimes you miss where you came from, right? Plus, it helps if managers actually know something about hockey so they can occasionally help with drills. I was just headed to practice, if you wanted to sit in and talk to Coaches Hall and Murray about the job?”   

Kent looks at Zimms pointedly. They shrug. It’s not as if they had anything else to do today. Johnson leads them out the door. As Kenny locks it behind them, Zimms feels a buzz of excitement settling over them. 

Some things would never be the same. But at the end of the day, they had Kenny, hockey, and maybe—Samwell. 

**Author's Note:**

> super amazing shoutout to my baes P and Y (will add full urls later) for rallying to beta and cheer read for me (and making sure I didn't chicken out of writing this) 
> 
> the fic title comes from "G.I.N.A.S.F.S." by Fall out Boy. But honorable mentions to "Learn How to Fight (acoustic)" by Besides Daniel and "The Calendar" by Panic! at the Disco


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